The way to a man's heart
by gemini in tauro
Summary: [AU] Despite his status as a chef prodigy, Oz Vessalius knows he needs all the help he can get to win the Sablier Annual Contest. And if it means asking former champion "Raven" for help, then so be it.
1. Prologue: there was a rusty kitchen

**Warnings: **Might contain mentions of Child Abuse (hopefully nothing too graphic), Minor Character Death, Suicide, lots of cooking, AU-ish and canon content and inappropriate relationships. [I'm not taking any chances this year]

**Relationships: **Gil/Oz (main), Gil/Break (past), Jack/Lacie (past), onesided Elliot/Alice and Ada/Wilhelm (from CrimsonShell). Might add later, if I _actually_ remember them. Also bonding, lots of bonding.

**Summary: **Despite his status as a chef prodigy, Oz Vessalius knows he needs all the help he can get to win the Sablier Annual Contest. And if it means asking former champion "Raven" for help, then so be it.

**Comments: **So, this story has been on my drive since... somewhere in September? Mid-August? I read "Golden Snow" (from the first Caucus Race) and how the cooks complimented Oz's cooking and I went "well, what better than a Master Chef-like AU to test the waters?" because I like the image of Oz cooking as a hobby so much. I've put a lot of planning into this, really. I have half of the plot just written down, and the other half somewhat sketched.

If you have any doubts about the story, or if I wasn't clear with the warnings, then you can ask away! I don't bite! (Also, have a happy new year!)

* * *

**The way to a man's heart**

Prologue | There was a rusty kitchen for him to use

* * *

_Once he was sure every noise was dampened, he mustered enough courage to exit his room and walk through the house._

_The front door had been closed, which could only mean that his father had gone to work, and he had the house to himself._

_He looked at the calendar posted in the kitchen. There were only three days left for Ada to come back home from her boarding school. It's ok, he could keep up with three more days._

_He opened the fridge, and there was only half a gallon of milk, three eggs, and questionable cheese. He vaguely remembers seeing a recipe in one of the books from their personal library talking about an omelet._

_Maybe he could do one of those._

_He smiled a little and put himself into practice._

* * *

"Vessalius!"

His eyes opened almost immediately. His breathing was erratic, and he had a very vague idea of where he was at that very moment.

The whole class was watching him. He frowned, why was he at a school?

"Mr. Vessalius, need I remind you that this is _not _a resting room?" Mrs. Kate, the homeroom teacher, said in a nasal tone.

Oz's eyes widened, suddenly remembering he was at Lutwidge Academy, and he felt his face growing hot.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Kate," he answered truthfully, bowing a little in the process. "I swear it won't happen again." It wasn't like him to sleep in classes, after all.

The woman arched an eyebrow, but relented in the end and continued on her science lecture.

"Among Mr. Flemming's several discoveries, albeit accidental, there was the use of penicillin as an antibiotic. He didn't continue experimenting on it after 1938, but the growing death rate from World War II in 1941 led Dr. Howard Florey and a selected group of scientists to…"

Despite his profound love for school, science wasn't a particular favorite of his. Neither was history (but if they were to tell it like Holy Knight was written, then _maybe_ he could fall for it…) and combining those two subjects was a trial on his retention ability.

"Oz! Psst!" Sharon whispered beside him. The blonde arched an eyebrow, but then noticed the paper piece folded between Sharon's fingers, and took it.

_Do you have any plans for today?_ It said. _Mom wanted to take me to the cinema and asked if you wanted to join us?_

Oz pondered about it for a bit. He glanced at Mrs. Kate to make sure she wasn't looking at them and then started to write in the piece of paper.

_I'll call Uncle Oscar to ask him if he's got any problem with me going out._ Although, knowing him, he'd say yes (especially if he was going with Sharon-chan).

_Peachy, _and they left it at that, given the off chance that Mrs. Kate might find out they weren't actually paying attention to her class.

* * *

"I think he was an ok villain."

Oz snorted. "Sure, if you think _Yeah, tell Jimmy he's got twenty minutes before the venom quicks in_ is an ok dialogue, then he is."

Sharon sipped from her soda, looking at him incredulously. "But how he fooled them for most parts of the movie was truly genius from him."

"Anyone that had at least one brain cell would've figured him out, it's not like he wasn't shady from the start." He took one last popcorn before throwing them into the big trash can that was outside the room.

His friend looked outright murderous at him. "Oh was he, would you tell if you saw him in real life?"

"Yes," he answered, and the tone it was delivered with told Sharon it wasn't something he wanted to discuss. "When someone says they love their kids very much but doesn't so much as question their health when their house is burned to ashes, with them probably inside," he shrugged. "you gotta question what another kind of things they 'love very much' as well."

Shelly came running at them, apparently, she had gone to the bathroom. "Sorry to leave without a warning…" she noticed they had their things with them, and then at their apparent fight (or rather, Sharon's remorseful countenance), so she backtracked a step. "Did it already finish?"

"Yep," Oz sounded nonchalant, almost like the mock-fight (because he wasn't mad at Sharon, the villain just rubbed wrongly on him) never happened. "Turns out the villain was the rich guy who was helping Dianne."

Shelly looked surprised. "Oh, Andrew? He looked so nice…" and very disappointed it turned out to be him, too.

"Yes, a shocker," Oz checked his phone and turned at them. "Oh, by the way, uncle Oscar said today I was supposed to cook dinner. And I was told soon was going to be Sharon's birthday, so perhaps you might want to dine with us?"

Sharon seemed ecstatic at the opportunity of eating his food. "Oh, it's been years since I've eaten anything you made, how to say no?"

Her mother merely shrugged. "Well, we don't have anything to do, so sure. Lead the way."

* * *

"Oh, and Oz, have you given any thought about the Sablier Annual Contest?"

Oz chopped potatoes with expertise, then dropped them into the boiling water. He looked at his friend, then at his uncle, unsure of who asked him.

"Ehm… well, you know, the seniors told us we better get going this year, lots of homework and we have to start preparing for university…" he started to ramble, something that both Sharon and Oscar noticed. They looked at each other but ended shaking their heads.

Neither of the three pressured further for his answer. Oscar said he needed to smoke a cigarette before dinner.

**. .**

* * *

The story behind the creation of penicillin is truly interesting. Y'all should read "The Mould in Dr. Florey's Coat", it's a very good book. Although the pursuit of creating it was in a very difficult time for science, and it's sad how none of the credit goes to Howard Florey or any of the scientists who helped develop the penicillin into a usable medicine, it's very interesting. Go check it out.


	2. Chapter 1: Add some spice

(School happened. Uh... hopefully, I have more free time now.)

* * *

**The way to a man's heart**

Chapter 1 | Add some spice

* * *

"_Another year without Raven. Is it the end of his career?"_

He swiftly blew the cigarette and turned off the radio. A hand immediately flew to his uneven hair and tried to even it somewhat, a signal of how distressed he was despite it being only nine in the morning.

Before he could muster enough energy to go make breakfast, a knock was heard at his door. He sighed, mentally preparing himself for Alice's impromptu visit.

The sight that received him at his door was surprising—

"Break."

—but not entirely unexpected.

"Heya," the older man held his hand high, a wide smile covering his face as he invited himself into the other's house.

It wasn't Alice visiting out of the blue, as he first thought when he heard the knocking. He was as appalled as he was surprised.

Gilbert just closed the door behind him and watched as Break looked in the cabinets, probably searching for some candy.

"Should I be asking?" he said at last.

Break stared at him. "Asking about what?"

Gilbert's eyes narrowed in disbelief. Either Break was oblivious or he knew what Gilbert meant—it's not like he came uninvited to his house in the first place, nor like it's been almost three years since they saw each other, so the natural question would be: 'what are you doing in my house?' but he never knew with Break—and was just pushing his buttons because he was feeling like it.

(Numerous times he had felt like it. And years ago, Break knew how to read Gilbert's every expression like the palm of his hand. Gilbert wondered, not for the first time: would he still?)

"What brings you here?" He went to the kitchen. There was still the tea he prepared half an hour ago, and it was still lukewarm. He served two cups and brought the sugar with him. As expected, the older started munching on the sugar cubes, teacup all but forgotten.

"What? Cannot come to check on you without you getting all worked up?" He pouted, Gilbert rolled his eyes.

"Not knowing the kind of person you are, no." There were so many things left unsaid, so many Gilbert wanted Break to know, but the subtext was not enough of a track for him to follow.

As though he were a scolded kid, Break started sipping from his now-cold teacup.

"Your father is worried about you."

Gilbert stared at him, expressionless.

"Father and you never got along. I believe you will need another excuse."

The china clanked. "Why are we so aggressive this morning?" Oh, he knew very well, Gilbert was sure of this. Break had always been good with dates, after all. Even he could figure it out.

His golden eyes stared, cold enough. "Why come so suddenly? If you wanted to meet up, you could have called me or something. I do have a cell phone, you know? It's been three years, why couldn't you at least warn me?"

Break shrugged. "It's not like you had anything in mind for today, did you?" He then proceeded to drink the rest of his tea in a single gulp.

Gilbert stared. Again. "That's so not my point. Did you ever listen to a thing I said?"

The spark in Break's eyes twinkled. He didn't answer, but his eyes said what his lips couldn't: _you know I did_.

"It seems I'm not very welcomed at the time, hmm" he left his cup at the table and stood. "This year's contest is going to close its tabs in a few weeks' time. Did you give it a thought?"

Finally to the point, although not one Gilbert would touch willingly. "It was you who suggested I didn't participate anymore, remember?"

Break seemed conflicted at this. "I suggested you take a rest. I—"

"—_am so sorry to say it. It's delicious as always. It just… lacks something,_" Gilbert quoted, looking impassively at him. The older's smile turned into a grimace at the mention of those words.

"You were in a very delicate state of mind at the time, and I couldn't just see you there, participating without a care for your mental health. It was an awful coping mechanism, and you know it, _Raven_."

The itch to blow another smoke was very tempting. But he remembered how Break would always protest of this very unhealthy habit of his, and so he didn't light a cigarette. If only out of respect.

"There's no joy in cooking for me anymore," he admitted, albeit a little crossed by the answer Break gave him. "And I believe there is nothing that can make me participate."

Despite looking like a child who'd been denied his favorite candy, Break didn't press further. He just let out a long sigh and looked at his hands, as though he felt absolutely compelled to keep on pressing for the other to participate.

"Very well, then. I think I'll take my leave," as though he had it planned, his phone started ringing and he looked at the screen. "Though, I mean it when I say you should call your dad or something. We never met besides that one occasion in the contest, of course, but that doesn't mean we don't share a sentiment of worry for you. You can't live forever like this, telling yourself you could have done something about it."

And he left.

Gilbert lost the little appetite he had left, too. His tea was cold, the itch to smoke stronger than when Break barged in. Had Alice visited him, it wouldn't have been as disastrous as this encounter was. At least her he could shut up with food.

* * *

Music echoed the halls of the house. Lottie offered him a sheepish smile.

"He's been at it the whole day, one would think it's a special day or something."

If he remembered correctly, Lottie came into the household barely three years ago. Of course, she wouldn't know about it.

January 18th.

Nine years from today.

_Seven_ years from today.

There were several pictures hanging in the hallway. Some of them had him, some of them not. The most remarkable ones featured two siblings: a violet-eyed, taciturn boy, and a vivacious red-eyed girl that seemed to warm everything with her wide smile despite how mud-splattered her summer white dress was.

"It's okay," Gilbert said to Lottie after a moment's silence. "I will enter the music room. He is almost finished with the song, after all."

As per Break's suggestion, he ended up visiting his father.

Inside the music room, the noise was louder. Gilbert entered and sat beside his father, playing the company to that very same piece.

He had heard it, seen it, played it so many times it was second nature to follow.

It was bittersweet to play it once more. Like it took all the energy away from him as his fingers moved through the piano. Like he was pouring his very soul into the piece.

He had heard it so many times, back when it used to be about warmness, happiness, and hope—now it was only bitterness, mourning and regret.

(He used to go to sleep with this very song, now its notes weren't enough to soothe away his guilt.)

The song and any sound stopped altogether. His father looked at him, moving his head just a little in acknowledgment.

"Gilbert, it's nice to see you." Despite being only forty-one, Oswald's ebony hair started to grey in certain areas. He wasn't one so easily angered, but it had been two years since Gilbert had tried to contact him, his guilt growing just by looking how fragile his father was after playing his masterpiece (he had lost one, but with how Gilbert practically disappeared from his life it's like he lost them all).

"Dad," he answered, his voice clipped. An aftereffect of the music. "I'm sorry I couldn't visit any sooner, it's been… hard."

Oswald nodded in understanding. Whatever _it_ was, he got him.

He rose from the piano bench and made a gesture for Gilbert to follow him.

"Do you want to stay? I planned on lightning a couple of candles."

* * *

It was almost ten in the night when he stumbled into the steps outside his house. There was a lump in the entrance, apparently. One that had been asleep until he stepped on it, apparently.

There was an "Ooop—!" and when he could distinguish the dark-chocolate hair and the checkered-like dress from Alice, Gilbert felt like a complete idiot.

Of course, Alice would decide to visit today.

"What are you doing here?" He was surprised, naturally, to see Alice sleeping on his _doorstep_ in the middle of the frigging night, in nothing but a very short dress. She stuck her tongue in response. "Let's get you inside, it's goddamn freezing."

"It's your fault for being away from your house. I've been waiting since noon, you seaweed head!" She went immediately to his bedroom to steal his bed cover, then stepped into the kitchen as though she was the one who owned the house and looked at him, expectantly. "But I'm willing to forgive you if you cook me meat."

Gilbert heaved a sigh. As the coat was hanged in the perch leading towards the door, as well as his favorite hat, Alice sat in one of the chairs, telling him of how bored she had been the whole day because he wasn't there.

"Well, I stopped by and visited dad," he shrugged as the mechanical movement of chopping carrots and throwing them into the frying pan started, thinking still of how… calm had his visit to his father actually been. Alice stopped rambling and stared from inside his bed cover, as though he grew a second head.

"Has any new info come?" her voice was trembling. Gilbert just shrugged and served the cooked meal into a dish.

"He didn't say. You know dad," but it was a no. There hadn't been any news yet, and he didn't know how to feel about it. Worried or happy? Sad, maybe depressed?

Alice ate her dish in silence, suddenly not so interested in the food.

**. .**

* * *

There is a plot. It is heavily inspired in the canon, so beware (no bunny surprises, tho).


End file.
